Making New Friends
by alcimines
Summary: Sam and Dean have the wrong idea about Jean Grey.


MAKING NEW FRIENDS

Sam winced and sat up. Slowly.

Everything hurt, but he was pretty sure nothing was broken. Or at least he hoped so.

Damn, his head hurt. Sam blinked rapidly in an effort to clear his vision. It helped.

The demon was nowhere to be seen. It was late and the parking lot was almost abandoned. But her car was still there. The Impala was parked a couple of blocks away...

The Impala... Dean...

"Dean!" Sam called out frantically as he woozily climbed to his feet. What the hell had she hit him with? A telephone pole?

"Dean!" Sam yelled again.

"Up here," came a weak reply.

Sam looked up. There was a big old oak tree growing on the edge of the parking lot - there seemed to be a lot of them in this town. What was it called? Salem Center?

It was hard to make him out because it was the middle of the night, but Dean was up in the tree. And he looked about as bad as Sam felt.

"Uh... how'd you get up there?" Sam asked.

"She threw me," Dean groaned. "But it wasn't a 'pick you up and throw' kind of thing. It was more like 'point a finger and you go flying'."

Dean wiggled himself loose from the tangle of branches and dropped to the ground. He landed on his feet, but fell immediately on his ass.

"Wow. That broad can hit," Dean said with a dazed shake of his head as he sat on the concrete.

"Yes, I can," came a female voice.

Sam and Dean looked at one another and simultaneously said, "Shit." Sam dove off to the side as Dean staggered to his feet and pulled the knife from his belt. Dean immediately fell into a knife-fighter's crouch as Sam started shifting off to the target's flank.

"For the last time, I am not a demon," Jean said irritably.

"Right," Dean said shortly as moved slightly closer.

Jean sighed and shook her head.

"Uh, Dean," Sam said slowly.

"What?!"

"The Devil's Trap we put under her car. It didn't work on her."

Dean paused.

"Not. A. Demon." Jean said. Her arms were folded over her breasts and she was tapping her foot. She definitely looked pissed.

* * *

><p>They were in the coffee-shop. Dean was nursing a black just-plain coffee. Sam had an espresso. Jean was drinking a mocha.<p>

"You know," Jean said with a sigh, "the only reason I didn't put both of you in the hospital is because I read your minds at the last minute and saw how worried you were about the kids at the school,"

Dean took a sip from his coffee, stopped looking at Jean's breasts, and started thinking about cornflakes.

"Nice try," Jean said to Dean with a tight smile. "And - yes - they're completely natural."

Dean winced.

"We've heard of mutants," Sam said quickly, "but we haven't met any until now."

"I could say the same thing about hunters," Jean answered with a shrug.

"So what do you do at that school?" Dean asked calmly.

Jean looked Dean in the eye, "We teach kids what they need to know."

"What kind of kids?" Dean continued, meeting Jean's look without any hesitation.

Jean hesitated. Then she said, "Kids who need help."

Dean seemed to study Jean's face. Then he glanced at Sam. Sam nodded and they let it go.

* * *

><p>They were on the road again. There was a problem in Providence, Rhode Island - something to do with a haunted house.<p>

The engine rumbled and the Impala's tires whispered across the road as Sam turned the white business card around in his hands.

"So what do you think?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head, "I don't know. Jean said this guy could give us a hand, but..."

Dean didn't respond. Jean had given them a lot to think about. Except for Bobby, they usually didn't go looking for help.

"Doctor Stephen Strange," Sam read aloud from the card. "It doesn't say what kind of doctor he is."

Dean only shrugged and said, "Maybe we'll have a chance to find out."

* * *

><p>Back in the mansion, Jean was sitting alone in her room, staring into a dresser mirror as she ran a brush through her long, red hair.<p>

Sam and Dean were a tough pair of men. She knew a few others like them. It was a shame that they were so alone.

Then Jean stopped brushing her hair long enough to lean closer to the mirror and look deep into her own eyes.

Nothing was looking back at her. At least, nothing she could see.

"Not a demon," she whispered to herself.


End file.
